


Christmas Day

by Tommyboy



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyboy/pseuds/Tommyboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in a life type story about our two favorite agents at U.N.C.L.E.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Day

It was Christmas morning, and even the bad guys took the time off. Headquarters quiet, only those who chose to work, moving about the halls of one of the supreme intelligent companies of the world.

Among them were two of the upper agents. Napoleon Solo Number 1, dressed in his normal suit, looking dashing as ever. He sat at his desk going through report after report, signing off on them, his in box growing lower as he out box grows higher. Illya Kuryakin was in his lab. Dressed in his notable black turtleneck, and darks slacks, he was in favorite haven to be when at headquarters, though he to going over reports that needed his review and comment to see if some of his comrades were on the right track of their work, proving or disproving a theory or feature of an item found on one of the many raids of THRUSH.

They worked at the tasks, achieving their goal of cleaning their out bins by two in the afternoon. Napoleon found Illya at his lab table, glasses hanging low on hs nose looking over more papers.

"Ah, no more work. We agreed, clear out out bins and then we celebrate."

Turning on his stool, Illya took off his glasses. "Yes, we did, but I just ..."

Napoleon waved his finger going "Ah ah ah ... This is a holiday and we agreed to clear our duty and go." Reaching over he closed the folder that Illya had been reading and moved it down the counter. "Come on you, time to see what gifts we have under the tree."

Reluctantly Illya moved off the stool, but moved effortlessly across the room to hang up his lab coat and find his suit coat. Returning to his partner and friend, Napoleon reached up to take the glasses off his friends face and close them. "Absent minded?" he asked.

"Hardly," Illya replied taking them and putting his glasses into his suit pocket, looking forward to wearing them later to read the book that he no doubted lay in wrapping under the tree Napoleon had in his apartment.

Leaving the lab, the two make their way through the labyrinth of halls and out to the parking garage where Napoleon's car awaits.

With little traffic on the streets that normally are stuffed with cabs and delivery trucks, it takes little time to approach Napoleon's building, pulling into the garage where his car is watched under the watchful eye of the garage attendant.

The elevator opens with a wisp, then steadily moves them up, to the penthouse floor. A perk of family and position, Napoleon lives a life that he sets for himself.

Illya restrains himself, not commenting on how capitalism was shown so well through him. For he is starting to succumb to these himself, gaining a jazz record collection, and books due to having money to buy such items.

Going through the ritual of opening your front door when you're a special agent, Napoleon let them into his spacious apartment.

It doesn't take long to look relaxed. Illya, suit coat off, gun on the side table, not in it's sling that is also off, shoes toed off, sitting in corner of the sofa, a chilled glass of vodka in his hand. Napoleon had disappeared into his master bedroom, returning with a soft sweater and his own stocking feet.

Relaxing with the fire stoked, Illya listened as Napoleon worked in the kitchen. A little known fact beyond the walls of his own penthouse, was that he could cook and put on a dinner to compete with most anyone.

Illya was napping when a hand shook him hard enough to wake without causing his ingrained senses to react to such. "Dinner's ready."

Waking to full alert, Illya stood to find the dining room table ready for two with a small dinner set before them. Napoleon stopped him just before entering the dining room and with his nod, showed that they were standing under the mistletoe.

"Merry Christmas Illya."

"Merry Christmas Napoleon," Illya returned as he stepped closer, invading their personal space to kiss his friend, lover and partner, in all things.

From there, their evening and night was all as they wanted it to be, and then some.


End file.
